Dr Percival Cox Versus One Sue Sylvester
by DragonDreamer1955
Summary: Drama.. suspense.. utter loathing! Also, Cheerios! When Kurt falls and breaks his arm during a reckless routine, Sue has to take him to Sacred Heart. But when Kurt's condition mysteriously worsens, she and Dr. Cox must work together before it's too late.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Everyone! This is me finally getting around to uploading this story I wrote months ago at work, and I figured readers could at least get a chuckle out of my dedication to two great shows that nothing to do with each other: Scrubs and Glee.**

**Characters: (Glee) Sue, Kurt, Burt, Santana, Brittany, and mention of Mr. Schuester. (Scrubs) Dr. Cox, J.D., Turk, Elliot, Carla, Todd, Janitor, and cameos by a few other hospital personnel. **

**Summary: Kurt breaks his arm and Sue has to take him to Sacred Heart. His condition worsens and the gang has to figure out what is wrong.**

**Sit back and enjoy the power play of two egotistical and borderline psychotic professionals!**

**Dr. Percival Cox Versus One Sue Sylvester**

It was a disaster. Five hours into Cheerio's practice and Kurt had fallen from the highest tier of human architecture only to break his arm, most likely the femur bone. Sue Sylvester took the liberty of yelling at him spiritedly for all of ten minutes before coming to the inevitable decision that she would have to escort him to the hospital herself.

No questions were asked when she ordered a limo as their ride to the closest hospital: Sacred Heart. It was Coach Sylvester after all, so Kurt humbly crawled into the luscious back seat, using the wine cooler to prop his injured arm delicately. He spent the rest of the trip shivering uncomfortably as Sue relentlessly stared at him and made small comments about how he would be expected to keep doing back flips and pom-pom twirls regardless of what any 'physician' said.

After a grueling ordeal of arriving at the hospital, checking in, and making sure it was specifically noted that she, Sue Sylvester, was in fact the local celebrity and six consecutive winning national Cheerio coach, Kurt was given a room to wait for his assigned doctor.

A middle-aged man with curly, toffee brown hair and a hard jaw line rocketed into the room with overreaching steps as his white lab coat floated around him the way a superhero's might. He stood square-shouldered beside Kurt's bed and bent slightly over the chart. A younger man trailed behind him with wide, admiring eyes while wearing navy blue scrubs. His hair was gelled into a metro look that he hoped would distract from his enormous Adam's apple.

"Ooooookay, here we have a sixteen-year-old with a moderate arm fracture who is accompanied by an internationally-ranked cheerleading coach?" He turned the last part into a question, looking up in confusion at Sue Sylvester's smug grin. "You're the coach? _Really_. And I thought the tracksuit was just for show." He tucked the medical chart under one arm and tapped the tip of his nose with the opposite forefinger. "Dr. Cox at your service, and I'll be running this show from here on out."

"Well, you better just turn around and march your alpha dog demeanor out the door this instant. I demand a new physician because I will not stand for you. I've said it once. I will say it again. _Sue Sylvester does not trust a man with curly __**hair**_," Sue stated with unnecessary emphasis on the last word.

"Aaand I don't trust a woman with a superiority complex and an overly-hairy swamp rat on her head, but we Just. Can't. Get. What. We. Want," Cox replied, throwing his hands in a mock tantrum with every extended syllable. His voice rose to falsetto like a toddler on the verge of tears as he said, "It's just too _hard_. Boo…hoo…hoo." Cox waggled his fists under his eyes to simulate waterfall tears streaming down.

Sue leaned in uncomfortably close, trying to get the machismo doctor to shift away, and muttered, "You think this is hard. I'm about to shove a laxative so far up your _ass_ you'll feel it between your shoulder blades. And that's _hard_."

Kurt shifted awkwardly under his hospital bed sheets and squeaked, "Coach Sylvester, now might not be the appropriate time to antagonize my doctor. Given that this break needs to be repaired quickly, it might be in both of our best interests to…"

"Quiet, Ladyface, I'm just finding the diplomatic solution," Sue intoned, yanking the bottom hem of her track suit and drawing up to look down at the arrogant P. H. D.

"Say Keesha, why don't you take the champ's advice and set the lad up for surgery. Mum-mee and dad-dee are talking," Dr. Cox said, throwing a look to his assistant doctor, who was standing in the corner reeking of nervous sweat and mango body-oil. The youngster even jumped a little and said, "Right-o, Perry." The older man groaned like an irritated grizzly bear.

"For the record, I was talking to my effeminate Cheerio lying in that bed, but nice to know you hold your colleagues in such esteem," Sue smirked, cocking one eyebrow higher than the other.

The mousse-haired attending trotted up to Kurt and whispered, "John Dorian: most of my patients live. And if I might add, your hair is _glorious_." He leaned in close to the male cheerleader and inhaled quickly, a smile spreading across his face at whatever fragrance was wafting from the counter-tenor's locks.

"I'll pretend not to vomit at that lovely exchange of gayness, if only to comment that with a name like _Percival_, I should be able to expect a bit more modesty from you. I guess not," Sue said, allowing her eyes to wander from his name badge to a full up and down examination of his personal space.

"Tell you what, _Susie-Q_, I'm going to pretend you did not just say that, flip open my handy-dandy chart, and wait for my complimentary reach-around. You see, I expect it these days because I'm just _that good_," Dr. Cox whistled sharply at J.D. who was now admiring Kurt's flawless skin texture as he prepped the broken arm. "Newbie, come."

The two doctors stepped outside the room and once out of earshot, Dr. Cox turned to J.D. and said, "Listen, Stella, I don't care what she says or threatens you with, do not trust a word that woman says. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," J.D. smiled agreeably. "Now Dr. Cox, do you think it's true he sang Celine for their nationals competition? Because I've always loved—"

The taller man whistled again and asked, "When did I _ever_ give you the indication I care about what you have to say?" He twisted his mouth crooked and snarled, stalking away.

"Just get Turtlehead to do the simple procedure, and it'd be super if he could do it without killing the poor young bastard. Mmmmk?" Dr. Cox called over his shoulder.

_I better go find Turk_, J.D. thought to himself, and cocked his head to the side as he strolled away, unperturbed by his mentor's unorthodox behavior.

**Author's Notes: Next Chapter will be up tomorrow! Please review, even if simply to say you read it and liked it. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello readers, I am so sorry for the delay in updates. I meant to post a new chapter days ago, but my Internet decided to fail me and today I am finally back online. So, here is chapter two and I hope to have three to you tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Glee and Scrubs are not mine, as you all know.**

Back in Kurt's room, Coach Sylvester turned back to her Cheerio with a venomous smile. "That man reminds me of a young John C. McGinley. So, Ladyface, stop admiring your nailbeds and listen."

Kurt scrunched his eyebrows, wanted to mention his one hand was immobile from the arm sling while the other was still clutched tightly beneath his bed sheets. Sue, however, did not pause for him to comment.

"I don't care what anyone says or how many fancy diplomas are flashed in your face… do not trust a word that doctor says," she commanded, bending down to meet his gaze and waiting for a positive response.

"Yes, Coach Sylvester," Kurt complied breathlessly.

"Good, now I have to get back to the squad. I plan to put all the girls on a newly reinvented formula of my master cleanse. And I can't have any of them eating solid food today. I'll make routine check ups so when you are finished with that menial surgery, you'll be introduced to your new diet as well," Sue said. She used two fingers to gesture from her eyes to his in her classic, 'I'm watching you.'

Kurt shivered slightly from the waste down, carefully keeping his upper body immobile. He nodded with a carefully cheerful smile, his lips parting slightly. Coach Sylvester left without another comment.

The soprano took that opportunity to have some quiet time; he even drifted to sleep for a short time. Suddenly he felt a tickle on his face almost like breath. He opened each lid to discover a face hovering inches from his own. It belonged to a large, short brown haired man wearing a hideously unfashionable blue jumpsuit. Kurt jumped, an unattractive squawk escaping his mouth.

"Oh sorry, thought you were dead. I was just about to take your fingers for…" He trailed off as Kurt stared at him with slack-jaw horror.

"Anyway, I was standing outside your room, pretending to mop, when I realized I don't have any work to do around here. So I figured I could ask you a few questions. First, can you get me tickets for that queer guy show?"

"No," Kurt stated, his jaw still shaped into a tender 'o' of shock.

"How about a sled dog?" Kurt shook his head.

"Stun gun?"

"No."

"Camouflage pom poms and a baton that shoots lasers?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, mouthed a confused "what?" and shook his head.

"Then can you get me new work boots?"

"No," Kurt said firmly. "Now please leave before I vomit on your Wal-Mart billboard excuse for a jump suit."

"It's not a jump suit. Notice the belt? And—"

He stopped speaking, nose twitching like a bloodhound and eyes darting to the hall outside Kurt's room. "He's close," the janitor whispered, and shrunk into a spy crouch to crawl toward the door. Following his movements, Kurt could see the young doctor from earlier. He strode beside a black doctor in green scrubs.

The hulking janitor lifted a remote—pulled somewhere from the front side of his person—and the young fashionista prayed it had come from one of the man's pockets. He pressed a button, angling it through the hospital door's square window. A trap door opened above the two doctors, causing a massive wave of bright red slushie to fall Carrie-style onto John Dorian's head and torso. The young doctor uttered a gurgled, "Uuueehhhgghh!" as the fluid drenched him.

"How did you do that?" Kurt gasped.

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," the janitor stated, and promptly dashed from the room with a call of, "Hoo, hoo!" in his wake.

J.D. and Turk entered Kurt Hummel's room, J.D. drying himself off with a ivory towel.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but there was a freak 'accident' in the hall," he said with heavy sarcasm. Turk gave his friend a sympathetic look, a pat his shoulder, and turned to Kurt.

"Mr. Hummel, my name is Chris Turk and I'll be handling your surgery. I don't mean to brag or nothing, but you lucked out getting the best surgeon here, know what I'm saying?"

Kurt just turned up his nose and chuckled awkwardly.

"He's also the best 'eagle'-er," J.D. quipped.

"Dude? I'm trying to look professional here," Turk muttered.

"Please, Turk?" J.D. begged.

"Fine," the surgeon picked up his friend and spun him in circles while J.D. cried, "Eagle!"

"And I thought I was gay," Kurt said, growing increasingly nervous about the entire operation, pun intended. They finally stopped, Turk planting his friend next to the heart rate monitor, and then took a moment to bear hug him.

"No love like guy love," J.D. sang. He wobbled in place from his dizzying spin.

"So, we'll go ahead and get you into surgery as soon as possible. No worries," Turk explained while Kurt just nodded again.

"Hey, you two notice how your names are made of the same letters?" J.D. asked. He air stenciled the two names with one finger and mixed them up as if they were visible. Kurt gawked at him like something from the circus. Turk rolled his eyes and said, "Let's go, buddy."

"Right behind you, Brown Bear."

As they left, Kurt saw the janitor pop into view, give him a thumbs up, and walk after the interracial doctors with a pickaxe slung over his shoulder. Kurt mouthed, "Oh my God. This place is full of mental cases." He tried to focus instead on the complimentary magazines beside him. Instead, another visitor interrupted him.

A dark haired doctor wearing green scrubs with cut-off shoulders and a cheesy grin walked in, whipping his hand into the air in what was clearly a high-five gesture. "Surgery five!" he shouted. Kurt hesitantly offered his hand after two minutes had passed and the surgeon refused to drop his raised palm.

"Who are you?" Kurt ventured, his eyebrow raised.

"I'm The Todd. They sent me to bring you in for surgery." _That was quick_, Kurt thought. "But before we go, I need to take care of a few preliminary concerns. Most importantly, how's your penis?"

Kurt gave him a scandalized look.

"Don't worry, I'll take a look for free. I'd like to do pro-bono work on _your bono_. Whazzup?" He threw a hand into the air again. Kurt wondered if he was dreaming, so he simply convinced himself that he was.

"Fine, self-five," Todd said, slapping his own hand. "Let's go."

**As it stands, this story will probably only be six or so chapters long. I welcome ideas to continue it, or perhaps start a separate story detailing another memorable trip to Sacred Heart. Please review with constructive criticism, and happy reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! Now things get serious as Kurt's condition goes beyond simple surgery. As usual, Glee is not mine and please review. Enjoy!**

Chapter 3

"Why didn't you page me sooner?" Dr. Cox demanded as he stormed down the hallway with J.D. flouncing at his heels.

"Well, he was doing fine in post-op until a few minutes ago—"

"Ah, save it. Thinking anyone is 'fine' during Gandhi's post-op is delusional idiocy," Dr. Cox said, and then opened the door into Kurt's room. The boy reclined uncomfortably in the bed, chest rising raggedly, spasms of pain causing his cheeks to twitch.

"Hey there, Skippy. How's the arm treating you?"

"Fantastic. My arm is tingling in a bad way. It hurts. And I have a fever," Kurt rasped, his voice wheezy from the medications. The whitewashed lights above his bed flickered ominously.

Dr. Cox began to speak, but stopped when a middle-aged man rushed to the nurse's station outside the room and started growling about finding his son.

Kurt's heavy-lidded gaze found the man and he groaned, "Dad."

Dr. Cox spun on his heel and strode over while J.D. glanced at Carla, who stood next to him taking Kurt's vitals. The boy mumbled about needing his facial creams and how terrible his hair must look. Burt rushed into the hospital room ahead of Dr. Cox, saw his son propped against the hospital bed, and froze. "Kurt—" he began.

"Dad, I'm fine," he protested with one hand clutched to his shoulder, fisted in the scratchy gown.

"No offense, kiddo, but you can't tell if you're even conscious," Burt chuckled wearily. He rubbed his face, etched with worry, and his shoulders seemed to sag with exhaustion.

"Yes I can," Kurt slurred. His left hand lifted from the injured shoulder and Burt moved to clasp it in his own. The young fashionista's face relaxed into a comfortable smile.

"Get some rest, Kurt. See you later," Burt mumbled.

"See you there," Kurt replied. His father ruffled his hair and Kurt swat at him weakly. "Did you…?" he trailed off, but Burt quickly responded.

"I'll tell Mercedes and Blaine what happened right away, and—"

"Bring my overnight bag,"

"Skin care, music, et cetera. I got it under control. None of your fancy clothes, though. Sorry, kid," Burt explained as Kurt's breathing evened out.

As soon as his son was absolutely asleep, Burt rounded on Dr. Cox and folded his arms across his puffed chest. Dr. Cox was still taller.

"You caring for my kid? How about explaining what's wrong with him. His cheerleading coach said he fell…" Burt trailed off meaningfully.

"Your son had minor surgery on his arm but since has developed unusual symptoms. Don't worry, we'll figure this out," Dr. Cox assured. "We have him on antibiotics now and will monitor his condition."

"Then I'm staying right here," Burt gestured to the corner chair with his hand.

"Carla? Think you can handle it from here?" Dr. Cox asked. She nodded.

"Wait…you're leaving?" Burt accused.

"Unfortunately, I have other patients that will die if I let my colleagues care for them," he said, air quoting the word colleagues and looking at J.D.

He strutted to the doorway, hands tucked behind his head as he went. He was a step from the hallway before the 'pain in his ass wearing a tracksuit' blocked his path—Sue Sylvester.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"Anywhere away from you, Susie-Q," Dr. Cox sang. Sue cocked an eyebrow and frowned, "What about my Cheerio? You expect me to let him be treated like a poorly dressed Lohan during rehab?"

"Afraid so, see I may be a god among men but I simply can't be in more than one place at once," the doctor retorted, pretending to pull his hair in opposite directions and squinting his eyes as if pained by a terrible headache.

"Listen Mc-Steamy-Pile-of-Dog-Poop, despite this place being no better than a hooverville plagued with measles, I expect star treatment for my sparkling, glitter-fabulous star," Sue said.

"Oh, Susie-Q, Susie-Q, I got no time for you, Susie-Q," Dr. Cox sing-songed.

"Shut up!" Sue yelled.

"Ohoo, got a rise out of you that time. And the crowd goes wild! Aaaaaaah…" Dr. Cox cheered, walking away.

Sue stood speechless. Eventually she turned back to the silent spectators and said, "I will get him. No one insults Sue Sylvester and gets away with it. You," she snapped, looking at Burt. "Ladyface's father."

"Me?" he asked. Sue nodded, planting a fist on each hip.

" I will ensure a physician for your son, even if I have to perform a piercing diatribe in front of everyone in the hospital."

"Okay," Burt stammered when Sue just stared at him, one finger aimed at his chest.

"I can stay with him," J.D. volunteered. "Dr. Cox takes most of my patients anyway." He said the second part softly.

"I don't care as much about you," Sue stated, and J.D.'s face fell. "I haven't had a vendetta against someone this strongly since William Schuester." She trudged out of the room, full of authority that made two nurses leap out of her way in the hall.

When Kurt woke, he could hear the insistent beep of a heart monitor and light breathing that was not his own. His eyes felt incredibly heavy, but when Kurt heard beepers and intercom announcements in the distance, he realized something wasn't right. He peeled each lid open and groaned at the pain in his arm. A familiar face loomed above Kurt, but with his vision blurred it was the familiar scent of mechanic's oil that clearly identified the man as his father.

"Kurt!" Burt exclaimed. "Thank God. How are you feeling, kiddo?"

"Hey," Kurt's voice cracked, but he smiled. "Worse. I don't think the room is supposed to be fuzzy." His whole body was terribly exhausted.

"Could be from all the meds," Burt consoled. He gently stopped Kurt from ripping out the medical tubes.

"The doctors need to monitor you, so that's what all the contraptions are for." Burt mumbled. He brushed Kurt's hair back into place from where it was plastered to his face. He whispered thanks. From his peripherals, he could see a nurse busying herself in the background. Was her name Carla?

"Do they know what's wrong?" he asked, and Burt shook his head no. "So tired."

"You're getting another timed dose of morphine," Carla supplied gently. Burt encouraged his son to rest, wiping his face with a soft cloth. It smelled like home, so Kurt drifted back to unconsciousness.

**Thanks again for reading! I will try to get the next chapter up in the next couple of days.**


	4. Chapter 4: One Wicked Day

**Author's Notes: Hi Readers! I'm terribly sorry this is so late, but I hope you still like it! Next chapter will feature some new visitors for Kurt. Could be Blaine, Brittany, Santana… just to be a tease **

**Anyway, happy reading!**

Burt spent an entire night watching Kurt, helpless to protect or comfort his son's restless writhing and pained groans. He was still unconscious and the nurses showing up periodically agreed it was best to keep him in mild sedation until they could better understand what was wrong. No amount of persuasion or brute force could get Burt Hummel to abandon his vigil, even as he could do nothing to ease Kurt's suffering.

At first the insistent beeps and whirrs of equipment Burt only vaguely understood drove him to pace, irritated, around the room. He passed the time alternating between concerned glances at his son and dark scowls out the windows, both outside Sacred Heart's walls and into the hallway at various passersby. A tall, blonde doctor happened on the receiving end of one such stormy look. She spilled coffee down the front of her lab coat, having run into another staff member in her hurry to escape Burt's glower. He instantly regretted startling the pretty, but crazy-eyed woman.

As the early morning hours crept by, Burt became oddly comforted by the constant sounds engulfing the hospital room. Those heart beeps, and even the sterile scent of medicine and alcohol, reaffirmed in Burt the comfort that his son was getting help, as best it could be given. However, by eight am the next morning when J.D. appeared to run more tests, the worried irritation had returned in the mechanic. Trying to avoid too much eye contact with his patient's father, J.D. scurried around the room checking charts and read outs. But Burt was desperate.

"Tell me when you know _anything_," he commanded, resisting the urge to grab J.D.'s arm and muscle the answers out of him.

"We're doing everything we can," the doctor assured, his tone soft and subdued. He was genuinely sorry to see Kurt's father look such a wreck, but truth be told he was also a bit terrified of the fierceness Burt radiated. Kurt would be proud, were he awake.

Dr. Cox still had not returned, but through text messages to Kurt's phone Mercedes informed Burt that Sue was back in school, and locked in her office after cancelling Cheerios practice. The Cheerios never cancelled. Several girls had shown up to stand in formation, too terrified to risk not waiting several hours in case their coach emerged from her lair.

"Those two hotheads are in a power struggle, and their egos can block out the sun let alone this entire hospital. Looks like we have to handle this ourselves," Carla stated, her voice so full of authority it stopped J.D. as he walked up shortly after reassuring Burt that Sacred Heart would do everything medically possible for his son. He nodded along with Turk and Elliot on Carla's other side, all focused on the Latina nurse.

"Whatever you need me to do Carla, just say the word and I will do it," Elliot said emphatically, leaning in and placing her fingers over her friend's. Carla eyed her stained scrubs critically and raised her eyebrow as if to ask, "What have you done now?"

"Oh, I spilled coffee on myself after this guy gave me a…really scary look," she explained, gazing at a nearby filing cabinet as her lip quivered. Carla hugged her friend reassuringly as Elliot release a breathy squeak, before looking expectantly at the men. They both shuffled around and mumbled excuses while avoiding her gaze.

"Come on, guys," Carla pleaded, bouncing a little and fisting her hands.

"We've both got patients besides him to worry about. Elliot's private practice now, so of course she has free time," Turk said. J.D. nodded along with each word, leaning into his best friend's shoulder and quietly commenting on how alike he was to Taye Diggs.

"The fact that you are accusing me of being lazy and less important because I've made something of my career is _not funny_," Elliot exclaimed, her voice growing faster and higher pitched with every word. J.D. and Turk shared a synchronized mock gasp.

"If you don't help that poor, _happy_ boy, no sex for a month," Carla said, snapping her fingers sassily.

"Oh man," Turk whined, flailing his arms immaturely. J.D. made a "suck it" gesture.

"You too," Elliot said, smiling at J.D. This time he genuinely gasped, slack jawed in horror while one hand fluttered against his chest.

Five minutes later, having convincing the men to help, all four of them huddled around the doctor's lounge table with textbooks strewn everywhere. They poured over hundreds of pages, trying to find a match to Kurt's symptoms. Nothing seemed to explain his illness, and nothing about his condition accurately pointed to a simple post-operation infection.

Turk snapped his fingers, and a silly smile spread across his face. "I got it."

"Please share," Carla said, gesturing with a twist of her palm.

"We use live human flesh to give him a full body transplant. I saw it on this new movie," he explained, fist pumping dramatically like a player who'd just scored the winning point.

"Oh, my God. Why did I marry you?" Carla groaned. J.D. cocked his head, daydreaming about what the treatment process would be like. Most likely it would involve switching faces and limbs with a Frankenstein-esque monster. Elliot smacked his cheek to say, "Focus."

J.D. pouted as Turk said, "Sorry, baby. You're stuck with me."

Dr. Kelso chose this moment to stroll into the room, causing four heads to simultaneously whip around guiltily. He surveyed the assembled doctors and huffed, "I'm not paying you people to sit around having study sessions!"

"Sir, we're trying to help a patient," Carla said. He asked whom. "Kurt Hummel."

"Oh, that boy reminds me of my son, Harrison," he commented absently. "In that case, I'm going to find a muffin." He walked off with a jaunty whistle. After the chief of medicine's impromptu entrance and exit, the four of them decided it would be a better use of time to split up and talk to other hospital staff for suggestions. Considering they were getting nowhere with printed words, maybe they could indulge in spoken ones.

J.D. went to the morgue, and staggered a bit at the overwhelming presence of toe tags and death. Standing over an examination table, he found the always-helpful Doug. The young, mousse haired doctor gave his old rounds-mate a cheesy smile and explained Kurt's condition, hopeful for some new knowledge.

"He's not dead yet, J.D., how would I know?" Doug said, exasperated that the medical doctor would ask him about rare diseases. J.D. scoffed and said, "You spend all day learning about strange ways people die. You're telling me none of them have stories to share?"

Doug stuck a cherry red sucker in his mouth and told J.D. to not be an idiot as he walked over to another body-laden drawer. The latter left, but couldn't resist one last glance back at Doug's peculiar habit to poke at those cold, stiff toes with his lollipop stick.

Turk went to his boss, Dr. Wen. The surgeon raised an eyebrow and told him to go ask one of the internal medicine doctors since his specialty was not diagnosing those ailments, especially when the patient was not his. When Turk tried asking every other medical person he could think of, they told him one after another to go back to Wen.

Before leaving the Operating Room, once again turned away by his senior surgeon, Turk mumbled, "You'd help Bonnie." The Asian man frowned, but Turk was gone before he could comment further.

Carla went to Nurse Roberts. Lounging in her desk chair before the television, Laverne said, "I'd love to help you, Sugar, but my soap stories are on." Her stern face concentrated a little too hard on the colorful screen images, hoping her friend and colleague would leave.

Carla knew better than to provoke the older nurse. However, she secretly wished that Laverne had told her no because she really was too busy, and not because she didn't have the extensive knowledge to help. As much as it irked her, Carla wished Dr. Cox's brain, at least, were around to dig through for some way to help young Mr. Hummel.

Elliot went to Franklin, but the lab specialist was less than helpful when he met her at the door. "I've run all the tests already. We're done talking now." He promptly walked to the other side of the room and sat down to eat his lunch. The blonde doctor flipped her tuft of bangs out of her face, since she had no other effective way to show her anger, and walked out of the lab, only to bump into the Janitor halfway down the hall.

"Janitor, can you help me figure out Mr. Hummel's condition?" Elliot asked with her head tilted genially to one side.

"You mean the kid I almost stole a new set of fingers from? Sure," he shrugged his shoulders. "Sure!" They walked together down the hall and back toward Kurt's room.

Kurt opened his eyes slowly, each lid feeling as though a ten-pound weight was attached. When his blurred vision cleared he saw a very peculiar scene; one he'd never have predicted.

Dr. Cox and Sue Sylvester stood face-to-face, mere inches apart, and staring each other down as if about to kiss. After a strained few seconds of the pair pulling faces at each other, an orchestral introduction began to play, one he knew well, until the light swell of music filled his room.

They began to sing.

"_What is this feeling, _

_So sudden and new_?" Dr. Cox (Glinda) sang in his deep baritone.

"_I felt the moment, _

_I laid eyes on you_," Sue (Elphaba) droned, slightly out of tune.

The hospital room, like a stage set, rolled dramatically away to be replaced by a dark, curtain-lined platform with two spotlights centered on his doctor and cheerleading coach.

"_My pulse is rushing." _Waving his arms in front of him to simulate a rush of water falling, Dr. Cox sang.

"_My head is reeling,"_ Sue spun her hands around her head as she sang, or rather screamed, back at the doctor.

"_My face is flushing."_

"_What is this feeling?"_ They belted together. "_Fervid as a flame, does it have a name? Yeeessss! Loathing, unadulterated loathing!"_

"_For your face," _Dr. Cox growled.

"_Your voice."_ Sue seethed.

"_Your clothing!"_

"_Let's just say: I loathe it all!" _Both said while the orchestra playfully accented their rhythm. "_And I will be loathing, loathing you my whooole liiife long_!"

Suddenly other doctors leaped around them, and a set designed to replicate Sacred Heart's waiting room was illuminated with Kurt's bed as the front row audience. Hospital staff members dressed as munchkins ran up to Dr. Cox and sang,

"_Dr. Perry Cox, you're just that good. _

_How do you stand her, I don't think I could. _

_She's a terror, she's a tarter, _

_We don't mean to show a bias, _

_But Percival, you're a martyr_."

"_Well, these things are sent to trrrryyyy us_," Dr. Cox warbled. At the moment a group of Cheerios pounced onto the stage, twirling and flipping behind Sue. Pyrotechnics ensued from cheerleaders at the back of the stage as everyone advanced on Kurt, now displaying show grins and jazz hands galore.

"_There's a strange exhilaration in such total detestation_!" coach and doctor sang together, looping arms around each other's shoulders.

Next the entire hospital had joined the production, singing boisterously and executing grand choreography with flips, dips, and synchronized chorus lines. Kurt's head swam, trying to rationalize the scene before him. They grew closer, the song fading into the background, and colors swirled into a miasma between Kurt's eyes. He slipped back into blackness.


End file.
